


Perhaps It Was Love

by TangyPeach



Category: Political RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangyPeach/pseuds/TangyPeach
Summary: Gadafi and Nasser meet again. More discreetly this time.
Relationships: Muammar al-Gaddafi/Gamal Abdul Nasser
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Perhaps It Was Love

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**It had been a week** since their first, passionate kiss.  
Muammar Gaddafi, that irresistible revolutioner, couldn’t get out of Gamal Abdel Nasser’s head. 

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He’d arranged for Muammer to visit in secret this time-- even willingly sorting out his itinerary and transport himself. So that way, no one would know he was there, with him, at his palace-- together. Perhaps it could be said Muammar made Nasser feel young again-- but it wasn’t solely an attraction of physicality. Muammar was smart-- a philosopher, if you will-- and very courageous. He spoke his mind, and was wittingly funny if he wanted to be. It made Nasser’s heart ache just thinking about him-- but he hated the fact they had to keep it a secret. He would have flaunted Gaddafi around proudly if the Arabic world were an ounce more... accepting. Nasser was after-all, more progressive than he let on-- and at times, Gaddafi was as well. 

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Gamal looked himself in his gold-rimmed mirror with a misaligned smirk-- mulling over his appearance as he dragged a straight razor up his round cheek-- trimming carefully underneath his iconic, white sideburns. He’d usually have his assistant shave him, but he wanted to be extra tip-top for this date. Perhaps he cared too much about what the Libyan thought how he looked-- perhaps it was to make up for Nasser’s hefty paunch which the Egyptian hardly cared about until now-- or perhaps it was just love. He got excited just thinking about Muammar’s slim build-- his ruggedly handsome facade... His... 

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Pebbles. A couple of them. Scattered across his balcony, nearly scaring the fifty-something-year old Egyptian. 

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Nasser hurriedly put his shave kit away as he rushed towards the sound. “Damn Allah, Muammar...” He swore in his typical nasally drawl. 

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Gaddafi had come, albeit a tad too early. 

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\--- 

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Muammer waved his arms up from afar: an exuberant, cocky grin on his face.  
Nasser was not impressed by the display-- holding a finger to his mouth as he shushed.  
Of course, his infatuation hammered at his abdomen the more he looked at Gaddafi’s face for the first time in days-- but right now was not the time to be scandalous. 

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Gamal grabbed a coiled-up, premeditated rope-- throwing it over the side of his balcony. The Egyptian beckoned—trying to keep as inconspicuous as possible-- as Muammar then grabbed the rope and scaled up the adjacent wall. 

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\--- 

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“How the hell did you get here so fast, boy...” Nasser tutted-- closing the outer balcony, pulling in the drapes discreetly as the paranoia settled in.  
“I ran.” Muammar said, shrugging.  
“You _what_? I specifically asked you to _stay_ in the carriage!” Gamal facepalmed.  
“It was too slow. I wanted to see you sooner.” Gaddafi snickered-- his relaxed voice making Nasser weak.  
“I... I did too, I cannot blame you there.” Gamal sighed-- both of them staying an unusual width-apart. 

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Muammar soon took off his beret, revealing his curly wisps of short, black hair from underneath-- that of a fine, prime Arab’s-- and threw it on Gamal’s bedside table carelessly. Then, he lowered his hands to unbuckle his belt. Gamal was watching attentively-- and Muammar lop-lopsidedly grinned as he noticed, his eyes catching his mentor’s as he slid the belt off it’s hoops.  
Gamal didn’t even pay mind to how messy he was being-- of course, why would he? He hardly cared when he had Muammar Gaddafi borderline-stripping in front of him.  
The Egyptian was lost for words as Gaddafi nonchalantly sashayed up to him-- licking his lips.  
Gamal gulped as Muammar now raised a hand-- placing a thumb on the Egyptian’s jaw. 

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“I see you shaved.” Gaddafi commented, his fingers now caving around Nasser’s cheek-- tickling his greying white hairs as Gamal put his hand over his.  
The Egyptian closed his eyes-- and perhaps he grew a tad embarrassed, seeing Gaddafi clearly cherishing him for who he was-- and didn’t much care about his body much like he did for the Libyan’s. Gamal had trust issues at this point, thinking anyone young would simply want him for his power, but he needed a sign. 

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“You know, I didn’t give my old life away to the revolution for nothing. Idolizing you expelled me from school, after all” Gaddafi said coyly, as if reading his mind, now holding Nasser’s face in his hands-- and all Nasser could do was smile.  
“--And this is the moment I dreamt of: a future with you. A future in your Africa, but with **you** and **you** only... I’ve felt so alone in this world until I met you. I love you, Gamal.”  
This struck Gamal’s heartstrings-- making him realize this wasn’t just a bodily lust but a deep love beyond his comprehension. And now, he refused to take advantage.  


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“...With me? You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you. You’d jump into the Suez Canal if I told you to.”  
The Egyptian joked, and before the Libyan could give a sly response, Nasser’s inability to control himself led him to push onto the leaner man-- his maw encompassing over the Libyan’s lips as he carnally dove his tongue into Gaddaf’s open-mouth.  
“G..am..el.” Gaddafi muttered through breaths as Nasser grabbed onto Muammer snugly,-- gently lifting him towards the bed, putting him down on his back-- Nasser’s mouth never leaving _his_ Lover’s.  
“I’ll show you real love, Muammer.” The Egyptian muttered against his lips, “I promise you, we’ll love like lovers do.” 

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Immediately, Nasser shoved off Gaddafi’s pants and shirt. Secondly, he shoved off his own clothes, throwing them in a forgotten pile. Nasser left a trail of kisses down the Libyan’s pattern of chest hair-- not daring to touch his hard-on just yet. Right now he simply wanted to look at Gadafi as he lay-- the Libyan half-smirking as he over-confidently rested his head on his crossed arms-- unperturbed. Nasser soon sat next to Gadafi on the bed side, patting his own lap. “Sit here, my beloved.” 

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\-- 

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The position had changed: the Libyan now straddling Nasser’s lap as they increasingly made-out. They parted their faces for a moment, a line of saliva connecting their mouths as the older man allowed him to breath:  
“Fuck me, Gamal. I want you to make love to me right now.” Muammer pleaded desperately, and Nasser, although gritting his teeth in worry, nodded. On his desk, he had that unmistakable watery substance, preparing it for such a moment. He squeezed a generous amount in Muammar’s hand, who generously coated Nasser’s member with it as he purred: “Are you ready for me, my dear Gaddafi?” 

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Muammar nodded, and with all his might, Gamal lifted the man’s bottom-- (a very light-weight man he was) and with that in mind, he lowered Gaddafi slowly onto of his erect, lubed cock-- carefully. Muammer screamed into Nasser’s shoulder as he felt it, biting him as Nasser gentle moved his hips-- the movements causing him to go further down on his cock with gravity. 

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With the Libyan’s arms thrown around his neck, Nasser Abdel Gamal stood up from the bed, carrying _his_ moaning Gaddafi towards the dresser-- the same one with his golden mirror-- and seated him on its outermost ledge for support. Seeing the back of Muammer Gadafi in the mirror felt so surreal-- with his let down hair, his perfectly tanned skin, the way his slim body contoured ever muscle in his body. His own reflection surprised him too: finding it odd how such an astoundingly beautiful man like Muammar Gadafi-- inside and out-- settled for a stout-bellied, one-trick-pony, failed negotiator-schmuck like Gamal Abdel Nasser. 

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Golden skin glistened against each other as Nasser now slid his arms underneath Gadafi’s knees as the younger man stayed flush against him-- positioning his cock at his entrance again as he calmly slid in-- Gamal closing his eyes once again.  
Gadafi gritted his teeth, trying to lift himself up as he deliberately bounced on him-- using up all his youthful energy to fuck himself onto his mentor’s cock-- and Gamal pressed his forehead against his as he shuddered: “You’re gonna make poor, old Gamal come soon, Muammar.” 

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Gaddafi grinned-- taking it as a challenge as he quickly rolled his hips-- and Gamal weakly kissed his shoulder in encouragement.  
Gamal squeezed Gadafi’s toned glutes as he silently came in one last thrust-- shutting his eyes as he pumped his revolutionary titan full of his seed. The Libyan swung his feet down to ground-level to now be the one to hold Nasser up, guiding the older man back to bed.  
“You were great, sir.” Gaddafi spoke, entwining his hand in Nasser’s coarse hair as they lay.  
“And-- yourself?” Nasser nudged him, noting how Gaddafi didn’t seem to come himself.  
“I did.” Gadaffi said, rubbing Nasser’s hand against his face. “In my dreams, I’ve came for you many times.”  
Nasser shook his head dismissively, smiling broadly: “ **Perhaps it’s because of love**.”  


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The morning after, Gadafi and Nasser woke up from a full-nights rest-- the excited Libyan already running down the halls, riding the stairwell down-- and the Nasser groggily followed.  
It felt great to the Egyptian that Gadafi did not leave him while he was asleep-- much like when he left him during that time on the balcony-- though, he could not blame him on such short notice.  
“C’mere you.” Said Gamal as he grabbed Gadafi’s waist, carrying his lithe form-- raising him a couple of inches off the floor as best he could.  
“Gamal, you’re so strong.” Gadafi laughed, and as much as he’d hate to admit, Gamal was having just as much fun as him. Then, Gamal started cautiously twirling as he hugged the young man-- keeping him off the ground-- spinning as Gadafi laughed even more. This was making the Egyptian rather sick, but it was a moment of much needed intimacy.  
‘Yes, **perhaps it was love** ’ Gamal thought to himself assuredly.  
And afterwards, they had breakfast.

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End file.
